Atavism at Twilight
by Kat3
Summary: A story written in an odd style meant to reflect the fragmented nature of memories and dreams. *blinks* quite the flair for the dramatic, eh? ;)
1. Prologue et Chapter 1

Atavism at Twilight

Disclaimer: The title belongs to a Mr. Salvador Dali and the characters are sex slaves of the mega-monstrous company known as Square. 

****

Prologue… or is it?

__

Swallow your pride. 

The sun hung suspended over murky waters, unaffected by the grim stars that had just begun to shine. 

The memories were like a slit in his mind. 

He pulled his vision away from the setting sun, focusing instead on the mechanical monstrosity which rose slightly above the crest of the hill, gleaming richly in the semi-darkness like a priceless jewel. And indeed, Garden was priceless. Just as hope was priceless, just as trust was priceless – all elements of virtue which he had traded for the price of one dream. 

He could feel invisible maggots writhing under his skin. White, twisting, gnawing… grasping for any vein of emotion which still presented itself within an empty man. A morbid smile tugged at his lips. 

"And what of destiny, Edea…?" He mused. 

He couldn't return to face their judgement. He couldn't accept that his dreams were dead. Eighteen years old and already a tyrant of the ages… naive ambitions for glory had made him into a villain, turned the wheel of fortune out of his favor… from legend to shadow; from hero to fool… 

The smile disapppeared. __

Swallow your pride. 

He was a fool. 

Turning his back to the Garden, he made his decision. 

He walked away. ****

*

__

The persistence of memory. 

Kneading her forehead with her knuckles, Quistis squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the splitting headache that constantly came back in painful waves despite her best attempts to get rid of it. 

She was so tired. 

In the darkness her frail form could have been easily mistaken for a husk. Strong Quistis now weak… pallid hands dipped into moonlight, gaunt and long… the weight of a shadow… 

The bleeding of mindflesh. 

Outside, the wind rattled the windows. But noises had become inaudible to her, as the venom of unsaid words and regrets crossed the gulf from uncertainty into certainty, and as a fog was lifted from the paradox of her life before. 

Fragmented. __

Broken pieces of glass. 

Her hair was a vision of white gold in the moonlight. Unreal. Like an apparition that faded with the morning sun. __

The persistence of memory. 

Eyeing the knife, she then looked at her wrists. ****

*

The Sun Rose. 

The Sun Set. 

But when all was said and done… 

A promise was kept. ****

Chapter 1

I don't quite remember her face. 

It used to be long. Oval with high cheekbones, happy and with twin sparkling blue eyes kept hidden behind a stern exterior. 

But I don't quite remember her face. 

As a child she was quite the optimist and peacemaker. Always the boss, always the middleman, or as the feminists would have me call it, middle 'woman'. It was amusing to watch her at times, and I distinctly remember deliberately picking fights with Squall just to see what she would do. I would watch her take control with all the exuberance of youth, hands on hips, eyes narrowed in a disapproving gaze which hid the smile… she would reprimand us as Matron would, with over-exaggerated hand gestures and kind eyes. 

I admired Quistis then. But I guess as children we don't have the sense to know any better, and so with the blissful ignorance of childhood began a friendship forged between two very opposite poles. Oil and water. Life and death. "Friends to the end." 

It's a wonder what the mind allows you to so conveniently forget. After entering Garden my admiration and respect for Quistis degenerated into mild distaste, and with the help of my new friends I was soon able to forget her completely. She had no place in my world of swords. A twelve-year-old boy, my dreams for greatness and valor had already begun to take shape and Quistis could never be the fair maiden who I was destined to save. She reeked of perfection, and I hated her for it. Hated her ability to resolve any situation with the snap of her fingers, hated the attention she commanded, and hated the way she rose so quickly above me in the ranks. So I forgot her. Forgot she existed until the day she became my instructor. 

We were always on opposite sides, she and I. I the troublemaker, she the peacemaker, I the evil knight, she the world savior, I the student, she the instructor… We saw through the same lens, but the image was always different. 

To this day I wonder which one of us changed first. Wonder when she stopped being the girl whose face I don't quite remember and became the bitter woman who I will never understand. Or perhaps it was I who first made the turn, I who finally saw the people around me for the hypocritical fools that they were and I who underwent the change. But I don't remember. 

I don't quite remember the girl that she was. Then again, I can hardly recall myself from the days of my childhood. My only recollection stems from vague, ungraspable snippets of dreams. And what proof are dreams anyway? 

We were all different before Garden. While Garden gave us integrity it was like an awakening to a new type of dream. The type void of rolling hills and meadows, azure blue skies and lakes – the type filled with nothing but truth behind a façade. 

Why reflect on Quistis Trepe all of a sudden? My instructor, the woman I abhor, and the girl who was at one point my friend? 

Because in a few minutes, she will be dead. ****

*

Snuffing out his cigarette with the heel of his boot, Seifer Almasy peered over the edge of the banister, looking for any sign of the night watchmen that were patrolling the corridors. He knew that the next shift wasn't for another hour or so, and that to make a move beforehand was impetuous and unprofessional, but his patience was wearing thin. Narrowing his eyes, he made his decision and moved swiftly down the staircase. 

There were two guards to his left, each carrying a simple pistol and a communicator device in their left breast pocket. One was languidly leaning against the wall, sleepy eyed and fatigued, while the other paced back and forth up the corridor, seemingly awake and alert. Retrieving a metal ball from his backpack, Seifer stole further down the staircase then, at the right moment, threw the metal ball a ways down the corridor where it hit the floor with a loud 'clang'. 

As expected, the alert guard was on it immediately, giving instructions to the other guard to hold position while he went to investigate. The moment the alert guard was gone, Seifer smiled to himself then stealthily jumped over the banister and slipped past the other guard. 

Morons, he thought, careful not to make a sound as he stole through the shadows. It was almost too easy. 

He found himself right outside her door, hand on the doorknob, ready to enter… but yet, hesitant. "Think about the money," he muttered to himself, trying to strengthen his resolve. "It's not like…" __

Not like I'll regret this? 

Pursing his lips in a thin line, he fought against the lingering doubts and finally opened the door. 

He could just make out her breathing form on the bed right in front of him. Streaks of light from behind him had cut through the darkness and lent a little bit of color to the otherwise gray room. Unaware and peaceful, Quistis Trepe breathed in and out of dreams. 

There was something about the darkness that made him raw. Something about the time, the place, the moonbeams prancing behind the windows and the knife in his hand which ate at him, made him remember. Who was it really that was sleeping before him? 

Quistis's eyes fluttered, gently, like the wings of a butterfly. 

Curling his lip in disgust, Seifer closed his own eyes and tried to see beyond her beauty. But when he opened them the world remained the same. He was still in the same empty place, where time stretched to eternity and blood made bitter the wine of life. 

He moved closer to the bed. 

Pressing the cool blade of the knife against his own skin, he looked down at Quistis. Smoothing back her hair, he transferred the knife from his skin to hers, positioning it alongside her jaw line. Miraculously, she didn't wake, and Seifer took that as a sign that what he was about to do had been ordained by fate. If he wasn't destined to save Quistis, he was destined to kill her. That had to be it. 

Cupping her chin with his other hand, he tightened his grip on the handle of the knife. 

"Sweet dreams instructor." He whispered. Closing his eyes once more, he slid he knife across her skin. 

But all it met was air. 

Exhaling loudly, he stumbled back. He couldn't do it. What the fuck was wrong with him? He hated her! He hated her very existence. Why couldn't he kill her? __

You hate Quistis Trepe, but you don't hate Quisty 

"I nearly killed her once, for Ultimecia." He snarled to noone in particular. "Why should it matter now?" __

You know why. 

He turned to look at Quistis's stirring form. __

The dream is different now. 


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2 

The dream is always the same. 

I'm standing barefoot in the swirling mists while rain falls around me. Infinite droplets of water plummeting gently to the earth. Obscured in their purpose, accurate in their fall. Cool to the touch. Beautiful, but just lines in my vision. Straight, slanting, silvery lines cutting through the ambiguity of the evening air. 

Somewhere, the sweet smell of thyme drifts lazily through a valley. I lean into the rain; head titled upwards, golden wisps of hair flying into the moonlight… I'm always with an ignorant smile. 

"Murderer..." 

I whirl around, call out a soundless name. 

There's never anyone there. 

Suddenly, the tip of some metal thing arches out of my neck. Time constricts, and my hands grasp clumsily for the object, but there is no cry of pain. Just a soft murmur. 

I close my eyes, finger the soft velvety part around the metal, feel the liquid warm as mothers milk sliding down the back of my throat… 

"Murderer…" they accuse, hissing, slurring over the word, their voices one – "Murderer." 

… And I realize how disturbingly grateful I am for this act of reprieve. 

The dream ends there, and each time I wake I am no longer the same. 

*

"… And that concludes the most horrible experience of my life," the freshman announced proudly. Few around him snickered. Quistis Trepe smiled. 

"Very good Nigel," she remarked absently, setting her glasses down on her desk. When she spoke again, her voice was very different. "I hope this session has given you all a chance to get to know your fellow classmates a little better. Tomorrow SeeD training officially begins, so I expect you all down in the training area at seven a.m. sharp. If you're going to be late, don't bother showing up at all. Class dismissed." 

Ignoring the dreamy gazes of half the male students in her class, Quistis gathered her materials and was the first one out the door. Once in the hallway, she mixed herself among the throng of bodies, relieved to have finally attained some anonymity. The constant attention was suffocating. 

Making a mental note to inform Squall of her change in schedule, she made an abrupt turn for the elevator and caught it a moment before the doors closed. 

"Second floor, please." She said to the man by the button console. When he didn't move, she frowned then politely repeated her question. Still, she got no response. 

Irritated, she reached over intending to press the button herself, when he suddenly turned to her and said, "you're Quistis Trepe, aren't you?" 

"Yes." She replied indifferently, not really in the mood to talk. A slight pounding sensation had begun at the base of her neck, and she wasn't exactly keen on conversation. "Anything else?" 

The man shook his head. But Quistis could still feel his eyes of her, and she purposefully avoided his gaze. 

"Thyme." 

Quistis looked up. She met a pair of murky green eyes. "What?" 

"Thyme. You always loved the smell of Thyme." 

Her next breath was stolen from her as a haunting aroma filled her nose, permeated her memory… 

*

__

"Seifer, please stopped fighting with Squall!" I pleaded, once again having to step between the two of them. A line of blood traced the right side of Squall's knee, and the young boy looked about ready to cry. "You know you've won." 

"No he hasn't!" Squall blurted out, rubbing the water out of his eyes. "I'm stronger than he is!" 

"Really now Mr. Cry baby?" Seifer sneered, trying to move around me. "Prove it!" 

"Stop it NOW!" I yelled, giving Seifer a harsh glare before turning to talk to the enraged Squall. I managed to convince him that Irvine and Selphie were about to set off fire works, so he backed off and ran back to the beach, albeit reluctantly. As I watched him go, a part of me was a little in awe of Squall's determination to best Seifer against all odds, while another part of me feared the type of person he might become once he grew up. Fearless and full of courage, what kind of trouble would he get himself into then? 

"You kinda like that brat, don't you Quisty?" Seifer asked, interrupting my thoughts. 

I shrugged. "He's no more of a brat than you are." I retorted. "I like you both just the same." 

Seifer gave me a knowing look. 

"C'mon, you must like me better. Because if you like me better, I have something to give you." 

A little curious, but also a little wary since the last gift I had received from Seifer was a venomous bug bite and a weeks worth of sickness, I watched as he fished something out of his pocket. 

"What is it?" 

"Say you like me better." 

"I told you, I-" 

"Say you like me better," he insisted. Knowing that he wasn't going to budge on the issue, I decided that it could do no harm to give in to his demands. 

"I like you better." I said with a sigh. 

Smiling, not sneering, Seifer grabbed hold of my hand then placed something soft in the palm of it. It seemed like an herb of some sort, emitting a peculiar smell which washed over me with all of the calming effects of rain. So captivated was I by its scent that I hardly noticed a pair of eyes peeking out from the bushes behind us, watching intently. 

"What is it?" I asked softly, unable to take my eyes off it. 

"Matron calls it Thyme." 

*

When she finally broke out of her thoughts, the man was gone, and all she was left with was the broken image of a traitor and the sterile air. 


	3. Chapter 3

****

Chapter 3

Some quiet trickling of water in a corner somewhere. 

Dollet was never the most upstanding town, Seifer reflected. Fully of seedy elements and guises, it had its dark alleyways and whorehouses, its crooks and mercenaries, its black lies and red tape; it seemed like it existed only out of the necessity that some dark force loom over a peaceful horizon. On that assumption, there was of then of course no better place for a man like him to be. No better place to wait, to keep out of prying eyes… 

Some quiet trickling of water in a corner somewhere. __

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Glancing at the merchant sitting across him, Seifer saw all of Dollet's trickery and deception take shape in one insignificant human being. The pot bellied merchant leaned forward, red-eyed and contemptuous. 

"Don't give me any of that shit." 

"You gave me an impossible task. Garden's security is near impenetrable." 

"If I could mimic your overconfident tone Mr. Almasy, I would. And as I recall, you said breaking in was mere child's play." 

"So I underestimated the freaks, big deal. I'll just try again." 

The merchant clenched his jaw. His beady eyes darkened. 

"I want her dead. By whatever means, for whatever sum of money; I want her dead." 

Seifer was silent for a moment, mulling over his options. Unconsciously, his eyes traveled down to a photograph clipping which sat on the Merchants desk. It was of a young boy in his mid-teens, grinning widely for the picture, with the infamous Balamb Garden hovering in the background. 

Some quiet trickling of water in a corner somewhere. __

You committed an act of theft Quistis… 

Seifer looked up and nodded once, understanding. Understanding the rage… __

You took a son from a father… 

Understanding the insane anger… __

Son from father… 

Understanding. 

Sliding the chair back, Seifer lowered his eyes and gave the photograph one last cursory glance. Unconsciously, his hands closed around the pendant hanging on his necklace. Just then, he heard it again. 

Some quiet trickling of water in a corner somewhere. 

The sound of his own tears? Or the dripping of blood as a mother's throat was slit moments after her son was born into the world? 

Or maybe it was both, trickling down through cracks in the past. 

*

Timothy Atkins was his name. I remember him well. He was an intelligent, inquisitive boy; sometimes too arrogant for his own good but generally well liked by his classmates. Tall but not too tall, and with all the features of a handsome young man just waiting to come to fruition. I knew naught of his parents or of his background; students are sent to me innocent as lambs, with any evidence of their family's past transgressions wiped clean. And that's exactly what Timothy was to me. Just another student, just another boy wanting to be a SeeD. 

So I taught him how to kill. 

That's my job. To train the next generation of SeeD's so that they may serve as arbiters in a world trying to define the boundaries of justice. I, Quistis Trepe, am nothing more than a vehicle through which the teachings of combat and tactical ploys are passed down. More and more I realize that I am nothing but a tool, and I loathe myself for it. 

I taught him how to kill. And then, I killed him. 

The official report called it an accident. And indeed, that's what it was, or what I would like to believe. A tragic accident which sent each and every student in that class home to dwell upon the consequences of the path of life they had chosen. 

Timothy had been having trouble with this one boy, Rint Fersboy, over a girl whom they both had adored for the past year. During a routine field exercise, both boys had apparently seen a window of opportunity to put the other out of the picture for good, and so what resulted was a savage sword fight. I remember watching them exchange blows with intent to murder. Two fifteen-year-old boys sweating blood on some twisted battlefield, dueling for some childish affection with the clang of swords. 

I hadn't believed then that they would actually cross the line. I had no idea their rivalry went that far, cut that deep. Not until steel passed through the base of Rint's neck and as all warmth was leeched from the dying boy's skin by the cold metal of the sword. I had stood by, helpless as time constricted, and as his hands had grasped clumsily for the object. But there had been no cry of pain. Just a soft murmur. 

It would be a nightmare I would live through again and again. 

I had lunged forward then, striking out with my whip to pull Timothy away from Rint. I had aimed for his hand, but the leather cord wrapped itself around his neck instead, and without realizing it, too shocked, too horrified to think straight, I had pulled the whip back. His neck had snapped instantly, twisting at an unnatural angle; in front of nighttime demons and a field filled with his comrades, Timothy Atkins fell to the ground beside his fallen rival, dead. 

It then began to rain. 

I was scarred that day. Not like Squall and Seifer had been scarred, but scarred with the image of two bloodied boys, draped over one another, the whites of their eyes prominent against the darkened landscape… just two more of Garden's sacrificial lambs.


	4. Chapter 4

****

Chapter 4

Quistis didn't know what to think. Disbelieving, she hit the rewind button on the control panel again and replayed the tape. And once again, the same events unfolded before her eyes. In addition to being shaken by the cryptic remarks given to her by that stranger that afternoon, she now had to confront an even more frightening possibility. 

"He couldn't have." Quistis whispered. Standing a little ways away, her arms crossed over her chest, the woman known as Xu merely nodded, her face grim. 

"Somehow, Seifer got past all our security devices and fail safes last night." She said, her tone clearly conveying her dismay. "This tape of him entering your room is all the evidence we have that he was here at all." 

Quistis didn't respond at first. She glanced once more at the footage running on the big screen. She didn't know what disturbed her more. The fact that someone had been in her room the other night, for reasons still unknown, or the fact that it had been _Seifer_ who perpetrated the act… after all that had happened, her thoughts were driving her around in circles, spiraling towards some infinite end. 

"How'd you get this?" She asked finally. 

"Apparently, some of your 'Trepies' had set up a hidden camera outside your room." Xu allowed herself a wry smile. "For reasons I'm not at liberty to say. But you might want to be glad that they did. The question is, why would Seifer go through all the trouble of breaking into Garden, slipping past the guards, then going into your room to do… absolutely nothing? It doesn't make any sense." 

"Maybe he stole something." Nida suggested. He had accompanied both women down to the basement which had been converted into the base of security operations, and had remained quiet up till this point. 

Quistis shook her head. "I don't think anything's missing," She said, sounding more than just a little distracted. She traced her long fingers over the image on screen, observing each and every detail. Suddenly, her mind tumbled and took a fall. __

Why Seifer? Were you on a mission to assassinate me? Assassinate your best friend? 

Best friend? Where had that come from? 

"Xu, can you get someone to cover my afternoon classes for me?" Quistis asked, turning towards her friend. "There's… there's something I need to do." 

*

Balamb was quiet. 

The currents of air were warm as they blew past her face, warm as real hands cupped under her chin. In the past the ocean air had always done wonders to remedy her emotional ills, to comfort her, and to provide her with a wonderful sense of reliving her past. But now, the past corrupted and her mind far beyond repair, she inhaled the sea breeze to no effect. The act of trying to wipe the invisible particles of salt away from her face only rubbed the salt even deeper into her wounds, prompting the further reconstruction of memories. The once soothing breath of nature now only brought her pain, and for that she damned Timothy Atkins, damned Cid, damned Garden, damned Seifer, and damned that stranger with every ounce of despair that had festered in her chest. 

To the winds she uttered a silent cry. __

Is this how it's going to be? She wondered, drawing her knees to her chest. _Will I always be hiding my feelings behind some mask of indifference? _

She thought about her friends. Squall, Rinoa, Irvine, Zell, Selphie – and realized that none of them would come close to understanding how she felt. Or maybe they just understood something that she would never understand. Did love fit anywhere in the equation? __

No, she told herself bitterly. _Love doesn't cure people. _

But subconsciously, she knew what an ironic contradiction that was. 

Her thoughts were too jumbled to make any sense of them. She could not even remember what she'd come down to Balamb for in the first place. 

Casting her eyes towards a few seagulls flying overhead, Quistis wished that she possessed the ability to simply fly away. Enough of fighting. All she wanted to do now was run and release herself from life's tyranny. 

And she would've jumped off the docks, if a pair of hands hadn't closed around her waist just then and whispered familiar words into her ears.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five ****

Chapter Five

The boy with green eyes.

Edea and Cid were happy, weren't they? A child after so many years of hoping and praying, a being of their living flesh with a conscience, a mind, and a heart. __

robbedfromtheminonetwistedsecondoffateofhateofcowardicetheplaceinshamblesnoluciannoabsolution - 

Such a world of fantasy we live in that we are simply to retreat from everything we once loved? 

But it was all a fantasy. Memories wash ashore on that beach now, and I am as helpless as I was when I was nine. Wet eyes, frail body – a decade later and my eyes are just as wet, my body just as frail, and I am wrapped up in a timeless present of circular tracks and wheels. 

Lucian was fair-haired like his father, but unlike his father he had a quiet, introverted demeanor which isolated him from our little group despite our best efforts to get to know him. He was always caught up in some personal delirium – he would not hear the things we heard, see the things we saw; through his eyes there was a flipside to the world behind the looking glass and his reflection was a distortion of perceptions; some shimmery silvered dream wavering behind a watery mirror; like ripples across his mind, getting wider, wider, and wider – 

Then disappearing. Was that the price of falling all those years? 

Andwhatofthepriceofadream? 

Quistis looked up, her eyes suddenly brimming over with tears as recognition dawned with some deft touch of a thief. 

Without saying a word she wrapped her arms around her twice savior, squeezing as much warmth out of him as she possibly could for fear that the body would turn cold and limp as she'd imagined it would be. He didn't return the gesture. 

They stood like that for some time, he with his arms hanging limply by his sides and she embracing him with silent jubilation. When she finally withdrew from him, she took a moment to take in all that had changed after ten long years. 

Now an adult, he looked nothing like his parents. The fair-haired child she used to coax to sleep stood a high above her, seemingly wary and guarded of her. She swept her eyes over him regardless, noting absentmindedly the fashion of his clothes to be reminiscent of Galbadia's dress style. 

"How are you doing Quistis?" He asked all of a sudden. The banal nature of the question startled her. 

"I'm fine. And you?" 

"I'm good, although it was a little disappointing to have been forgotten by the one girl who actually meant something to me all those years ago." His smile was dim and faintly… accusing? 

Quistis cringed, remembering their initial conversation in the elevator. She placed a hand on his arm. "Lucian…" She began, "What happened? Ellone said…" 

"Ellone sees a lot things that aren't really there." He said quietly, flinching at her touch. He met her gaze for a moment, then moved his eyes down to the ground. Safer territory, she realized, reluctantly letting her hand fall back to her side. 

"But the guards?" 

"They ditched me in an area close to Galbadia. Probably figured I'd either be too dumb to head in the right direction, starve, then die, or that heading into the city was a death sentence enough." His voice was almost as bitter as his eyes. When he didn't offer any more information Quistis tried to probe him further in an attempt to gain what still eluded her. 

"Why didn't you-" 

"Why didn't I contact Cid and Edea?" He asked, interrupting her. "Would it have made a difference?" He turned and stared at the horizon. Quistis followed his eyes, but found herself once again drawn to his angular profile. Something about this man struck her as so familiar, and yet so unfamiliar at the same time. It was unnerving. 

"What do you mean by that?" She prompted, uncertain of what else she could say. 

Lucian chuckled. He gestured towards the central part of town. "Come Quistis, let's go for a walk." 

*

He remembered being bathed by a clean sheet of rain the last time he had stood here. Drenched and standing with his face titled up towards the sky, he had experienced an epiphany. A vision of a sorceress's knight. 

The rain was clearly lacking now, the sun casting down its light to barely graze the surface of the waves. But the epiphany struck again. Like lightning. And it hit him hard. __

Lucian. 

The name rolled over his thoughts, again and again, seeking out the face of a seven-year-old child. 

"Lucian," Seifer mused to himself, "you always did keep me from getting things done." 

But regardless, Seifer knew the plan was never to simply murder Trepe in broad daylight. Though she had been in the process of completing the task for him when that brat showed up. Pity. 

Narrowing his eyes, Seifer leapt down from his perch once the couple was out of sight and took a moment to bask in the sun. It had really been too long since he'd last been here. Why hadn't he…?But then a flash of metal too much like the color of silver crossed his line of vision, no more than a container being loaded off a ship, and he suddenly remembered why. He felt the wind trace his cheek with brittle fingers. 

The features on his face lost their hard edge and, for one brief moment, he was like any other man standing on those docks, looking out into a distant beyond for a future lying hidden behind the vast array of clouds. 


End file.
